I am the Grim Angel
by carriongirl
Summary: In an apocalyptic world infested with zombies, Jo finds herself captured alongside the only human girl in the city, Meg. Fate has brought them together but will they manage to survive much longer when love seems to be their greatest weakness? chapter 4
1. Step One: Blackout

**Note: This story jumps between the POV of both Jo and Meg. The change in POV is shown with a line between paragraphs.**

**I tried to make this as suitable as I could. The original version was rated MA but I've edited it so this version will probably linger an inch away from being M. This is my first story on this site so I'm still trying to get my head around ratings n shit |:  
>I don't own Burst Angel but I wouldn't mind it if I did.<br>Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thanks beautiful. (;**

Step One: Blackout

"Blood foaming at her nose."

"Flesh splitting in her toes!"

"She's despised where she goes?"

"An angel no one knows."

The voices are coming from somewhere within the coloured smoke that surrounds me. It's red, then its orange, then its yellow. I can't see more than a few metres in any direction ... but that's okay.

"The thick smoke makes her blind."

"So soon heaven will find …"

"That an angel lost its mind –"

Before they can say anything else, I whip around fast and shoot one directly in the face; the blood sprays all over my jacket. With no time to think, I quickly target two more which have appeared out of the smoke and send bullets directly through their eyes. They drop like sacks of sand but a third one leaps effortlessly over their bodies. His rotten face is contorted as he flies through the air towards me like a shadow. But within that split-second, I draw back my arm and manage to hook him with my fist, right in the temple. The impact breaks his skull like a piñata.

The world goes silent. All I can hear is my own breathing as I stare down at the mess I've made, which falls in a heap at my feet. "Shut up, damn it."

Zombies. And those were only a few of them. This whole factory is crawling with them, like fleas on a dog.

I spin my Desert Eagles around my fingers like drumsticks. The smoke is clearing up already, showing the massive black metal room. Old conveyer belts that don't work anymore are all over the place. Perhaps ten zombies stand on the highest one. They're drooling at me; their rotting flesh is riddled with flies and wriggling maggots. Each one has a pair of ominous eyes which glow red like headlights.

I shrug. "Come on."

They all look at each other, dumbfounded. One even scratches the patch of bone on its forehead. They seem to be clueless now that the smoke from the valves has disappeared giving me a crystal clear shot at them all.

"I'll wait here then."

I pull out my tobacco pouch and roll a cigarette, feeling sort of disappointed. Easy fights are not fun fights. I could just shoot them all now but that would be far from satisfying. I'd rather just play games. Violence, adrenaline, blood; that's what I want.

As I light up and draw-in some of the reassuring smoke there's a _clunk _sounding from a door behind me. I peer over my shoulder.

A zombie falls out through the door, face-planting the ground. As it gradually gets to its feet I can see that it's a tall boy with a tattered bowtie and a broken pair of glasses perched crookedly at the end of his nose. He uses one of his fleshless hands to rearrange the collar of his shirt and dust off his trousers but the tumble to the ground has broken off the other hand leaving only a stump. "Oh my," he says, while examining it with his glowing eyes.

The severed hand drags itself over the ground towards me. I stare at him.

The zombie-boy almost looks embarrassed as he surveys the other ten zombies on the conveyer belt (all of them seem embarrassed as well, some hiding behind their fingers). He then rubs his nose awkwardly with his good hand, oblivious to the fact that I'm there, until I load a Desert Eagle in his direction.

"Oh my," he repeats, blinking in surprise. "Fancy that."

I continue to stare at him.

"You must be the rather pretentious individual who has been wrecking trouble in our homestead? Well, I would kindly shake your hand if you fair enough to shake mine. It's available only two feet in front of you but take care of the excess pus and bone marrow."

I tighten my lips and skip my gaze between the zombie-boy and the twitching hand that is crawling in random circles on the ground. There is a heavy silence. I'm in a situation I would not have predicted to be in.

"Are you trying to be funny," I say. It's more of a statement than a question.

"Of course not, I _am_ funny. I am also Oliver Flewip … and you are?"

I clench my jaw and shoot the severed hand on the ground. _Bang. _Fingers fly off like confetti.

"Well, honestly," the zombie-boy says with a huff, "that was uncalled for. I could've conjured up a way to reattach that, you know."

I growl and point the pistol back at him, aiming right between his glasses. "Tell me why such a sad piece of work like you is standing in front of someone like me without a bullet through your damn brain."

The zombie's lipless mouth sags at the corners as if he's offended. "I most definitely am not a '_sad_ piece of work' thank you. I'm quite content and, if I might also add, charmingly witty."

Suddenly a tremendous weight slams into me from above and the ground rises up to meet my head. The air is knocked from my lungs and there's an overbearing smell of rotting meat. I struggle; several bodies are crushing into my back at once, pinning down my arms and legs. There's heavy panting in my ear and agony continues to explode all over me, slowing my thoughts. All I know is that my Desert Eagle is no longer in my hand.

There's a voice saying, "Quick, immobilize her!" but I don't care. I'm not prepared to waste time, only zombies.

Pushing my chest up off the ground, I elbow whatever is holding my right arm and roll to that side, catching one zombie in the face with my inner foot. I then throw my knuckles into another one's throat and hastily jump up, tucking in my knees until I flip backwards and land standing on the shoulders of another.

The zombie leers left and right like a ship at sea, trying to keep on its feet. I snarl and pull out my other Desert Eagle, blasting three other ones that are charging in my direction before shooting the one I'm standing on through the top of the head. Its body quivers before collapsing face first to the floor.

I whip around, prepared to kill the remaining of the 'living dead' before I notice the glint of metal on my arm. There's a rusty needle in my wrist, empty of whatever fluid it had previously contained. _Shit, _I think, pulling it out the moment I see, but it's too late.

Six maggot-eaten zombies stand around me – their skull-like faces are laughing. I wince as icy pain pierces all of my muscles, sending me to my knees. Energy is being sapped from every inch of my skin. Beads of sweat bud on my forehead. I clench my teeth, forcing myself to fight the drug which spreads throughout my system but I can't. In less than a minute my body fails and I fall to the ground. I'm now staring at the feet of the closest zombie, watching something wriggle between the holes in his toes as the living dead all fill the factory with more booming laughter. I can't do so much as move my fingers or talk. All I can do is breathe and see.

"Not so tough now, angel girl? You're looking a little wasted," one zombie says smugly.

"What should we do with her? Cut her? Eat her? Torture her?" asks another.

"Let's just do things."

A voice from far away clears its throat and I realize it's coming from the zombie-boy. He walks around into my line of sight, nervously adjusting his broken glasses with his remaining hand and straightening his bow tie.

"Might I intrude upon your achievement here, boys, and suggest you present this girl to the one who would be _most_ intrigued with her incapable situation?"

There's a series of annoyed growls from the older, bigger zombies. "What are you talking about, kid?" demands one of them.

"Evidently I mean to say you should bring her to Leather Jack." The other zombies, having heard the name and understanding now, reply with enthusiastic grunts. Oliver Flewip looks down at me and nods in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry, she-without-a-name-only-a-gun-and-bad-intentions, but it's the least I could do for you after you obliterated my hand." He smiles, showing his rotting gums. "I'm sure that now you are off your high horse you might manage to learn a bit about zombies with non-zombified minds?"

_I'm going to slit your throat. _I manage to grind my teeth as I try to lift my head but it's useless. _This isn't good. _I have no idea what drug I've been injected with but being unable to move is not a nice feeling. I actually feel worry worming its way through my stomach. As the zombies begin to clap me in irons, I can't help but think that there is no worse feeling than being helpless. There is no worse feeling than having no control. Leather Jack will never have power over me.

_I don't wanna die so you're going to have to._

* * *

><p>"What is wrong with you?"<p>

The manacles are now beginning to break the skin on my wrists. I look up, my heart pattering in my throat as streaks of blood run down my arm. I swallow hard, my cheeks burning up. I don't want to cry, but I don't think I'll be able to help myself.

A pair of zombies had cornered me downtown a few hours ago. They had managed to daze me somehow and before I knew it I found myself here in a dark, metal room which smells of smoke and ash. My guess is, from the material of the room, that I'm in the old factory that was once used to melt down metal products. A pang of fear strikes me. _What if they melt me down in here? _I gaze back up at my arms, my hair feels hot against my neck. The thought of dying in here is horrific and real. I've always told myself I'll be ready for it when the time comes, but I'm not. All I do is go through the people I've loved once upon a time, wishing I could see them.

There are two zombies in here, lounging on patchy sofa and betting piles of remains through a card game. There's noses, tongues and toenails. Both of the zombies have red blazing eyes and thick manes of wild hair. While they gamble wholeheartedly, the smell of them is making me feel lightheaded. _Why do I have to end up in these situations?_

I hear footsteps and glance upwards; I feel the colour drain from my face. If I experience change in here of any sort I know it won't be good change. To my disbelief the zombie that enters the room is unlike any of the other ones. He's a teenage boy and he's actually wearing a pair of reading glasses.

"Pardon me," he says courteously. The zombies that have been guarding me look up over their handfuls of cards, eyeing the intruder like he's something as random and bizarre as pop tart urine. "Would you kindly fill me in? I'm currently searching for the most promising Mr. Leather Jack. Could you two help a brother out and tell me where he might reside?"

The two older zombies exchange glances with each other. "Who are you?" one growls in a guttural voice.

"I'm new," replies the boy, anxiously fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. "Oliver Flewip. It's a pleasure and a half to meet you both."

The guard zombies look disgusted and go back to their card game, completely ignoring Oliver's existence.

"Yes, hello? I haven't left yet," he says, crossing his arms. "I am quite spectacularly diligent for a zombie, were either of you aware of that? No? Wonderful. I'll just have to inform Mr L.J that you two were not being very productive after I show him the Angel I have come to capture. Ciao bella."

Oliver spins on his heels and begins to walk out of the room. The guard zombies immediately leap to their feet, the cards billowing around them in a cloud as they brandish their weapons. "What did you say?" one exclaimed.

"You heard me," Oliver says, pausing at the doorway. "I have her right now." The boy then notices me and blinks. "Is there room for one more or is this one taking up all the space?"

"Pardon?" I snap. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You can communicate?" Oliver asks, raising one of his half-chewed-away eyebrows. "That's rather exceptional, seeing as everyone else in here seems to prefer sheltering their words. I expect I have found someone to chat to? I'll hold you up on that. In the meantime, enjoy your roommate."

The young zombie then vanishes from the room and in his place comes a pack of six others all full-sized and bulky. I watch, my lips trembling, as they carry a figure bound completely in black material to my end of the room where its dark and littered with shackles. I crane my neck, trying to see, but as they put the figure down they crowd around. There are several chinking noises accompanied with the sound of tearing fabric. It takes perhaps two minutes for them to shred the black material and chain the stranger up to their liking. It's only when the last one leaves that I can see who it is.

The moment I do, my heart begins to patter in my throat again.

It's a girl.


	2. Step Two: The Escape

**Note: This story frequently jumps between the POV of both Jo and Meg. The change in POV is shown with a line between paragraphs.**

**The majority of this chapter is from Meg's point of view. I sorta can relate more with Jo as a character so I personally love writing from her POV but most people (chicks?) who watch Burst Angel watch it for Jo haha not so much meg. So that's just why I swap between point of views … just putting it out there if anyone gives a shit lol.  
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**this chapter is more of an introduction of what everythings going to lead up to. it's kinda fast-paced.  
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**Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Like I really didn't think I would get any reviews besides my friends who read it. you guys are legends!  
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Step Two: The Escape

It's been hours; hours chained by the wrists to a wall somewhere within the ol' metal-works factory. I, Meghan Rowel, am little more than a zombie's possession. I haven't seen a single one for a long time now, but I know they're still somewhere in the factory. Maybe on a different level or in a different area. I figure that it must be night time, even though there's no windows in this sooty place, so they could've spread out all over the city by now. I'm in pain from the manacles on my wrists and I feel exhausted, but my heart beats too fast for me to sleep. Despite my situation and my apparent demise, I feel drawn towards the one and only other individual in here: the girl they brought in after me. She's been unconscious all this time but nothing but her presence seems to give me security. I have no idea who she is – I've never seen her before – but at least I'm not alone.

I can't help but continuously look at the fellow teenager. She has platinum blonde hair that's razor-cut into short tousled layers – a streak of dried blood stains it red near one temple. Her body is slumped against the brick wall behind her; wrists clapped in shackles above her head. The girl is very androgynous: toned arms, nearly-flat chest, narrow hips. She wears a sleeveless maroon jacket, open to reveal a simple black T-shirt underneath, along with black skinny jeans for her long legs and leather boots. Around her waist is a belt holding what seems to be ammunition, although our capturers haven't brought any weapons in here with her.

She groans and rolls her head backward. Her face is beautiful yet sharp, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, all smudged with ash. In the flickering fluorescent light her hair looks like liquid silver, which is in perfect contrast against her sun-kissed skin. I can see more blood gleaming between her lips and at the base of her throat.

_God knows who you are,_ I think, as she groans again. _Are you just another unfortunate person like me? Maybe you're not. Maybe you're something different. _

Minutes pass and she still doesn't wake up. I think she must be extremely injured or drug-fucked. The little bit of hope I had that she might be able to find a way out of our prison is lost. Long gone.

Early this morning I actually had predicted that I would have a nice day – it just goes to show how much of psychic I am not. My best friend Jeremy is a mastermind when it comes to clockworks and gadgets. At around 8am he was trying to explain to me how valuable of use his new cheese sandwich making machine would be (all I could do was nod and roll my eyes) when something that belonged to him fell off the window sill of our battered apartment into the street below.

In the whole city of Kolumbia it seems that there are only twenty or so humans left. I live with these survivors, hidden away. Supplies are scarce and even harder to obtain when a zombie-infestation has spread all over town like a flash flood. So with this in mind, it's not safe to walk the streets alone and unarmed. Jeremy makes many mistakes but he's loveable all the same, so naturally I chased him downstairs when he went after whatever fell from the windowsill (I think it was a watch? Or a piece of jewellery?). But as I got out onto the street to look for him, he had disappeared. Vanished. I didn't have to walk far until the pair of zombies found me and I "vanished" too.

_So who are you? _ I think as I look at the girl across from me. There shouldn't be any other survivors – we've scouted the city many times. Where did she come from? Is she alone? _I wonder if I'll ever learn anything about her at all._

The only other thought that never leaves my mind is of Jeremy. I haven't seen him. Is he in the factory? Or maybe different zombies took him away? I can only pray that he isn't dead and that he escaped somehow … although praying never seemed to have got me far in the past.

Frustrated, I kick a rusted tin can in front of me. The sound of it bouncing across the ground breaks the silence for a few seconds, but it's not satisfying enough.

"This is just ridiculous," I mutter, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. "Urgh. Just my luck. What am I supposed—?"

My voice cuts off in my throat, as if it struck a closed door. I stare bemusedly as the injured stranger begins to stir more than ever before. The links from the chains she's bound in chink noisily, veins appear across the bones in her hands, and the bridge of her nose crinkles like paper. Her whole body tenses up, as if she is struck with pain, before falling completely limp – beads of sweat are covering her brow. She's deathly still for perhaps a minute (this minute which I spend questioning her condition) and then eventually, without warning, her eyes flicker open.

The girl blinks a couple of times, looking confused, and spits out a globule of blood onto the floor. Her irises are unnaturally red. Feverish red. Burning red. Red like a ruby against a flame. As soon as I see them my heart skips a beat or two and I become harshly introduced to a new and merciless fear (it does not sit well in my stomach). The girl gazes wearily at the numerous chains connected to her but does not notice me until I begin to breathe too hard.

The stare she gives me quickly turns from confused to acidic. She's like a hawk about to swoop down and shred me to ribbons. I can't look away. I clench my manacles like they are a life line and shake my head. "No, I didn't ... It—it wasn't me!" I try to explain, thinking she must be blaming me. "I wasn't the one who put you there. No, no! They did the same to me. They caught me on Preseli Avenue. Look, see? I'm just like you, I'm stuck here. I was looking for my friend and they just came from nowhere and brought me here. And then … And then I watched them bring you here, a whole bunch of them. They dragged you here. You've been out cold for hours and—" I swallow hard. "—please believe me! I didn't do any—"

"You're a human," she says in spine-tingling voice. Listening to it feels like ice shards slicing the back of my neck open.

I take a moment to process her words. "I … Yeah?"

The stranger continues to stare without any sign of a reaction. "You're a girl."

The statement takes me by surprise. "Last time I checked, yes?" I look down at the ground, blankly examining trails of ash and dust. By the time I dare to lift my gaze again, the girl has lost interest in me and is toying with the manacles on her wrists with a concentrated expression.

"What's your name?" I ask, as gently as I can manage, and then add, "I'm Meghan. Are you from Kolumbia?"

The blonde stranger's mouth becomes a flat line as she continues to focus her attention on the chains, her fingers moving precisely. She says nothing.

"It's just that I live with all the survivors in the city. We didn't think there was anyone else here," I mutter, genuinely. "Of course, I probably won't get to see them again." I'm glumly reminded of Jeremy. "But that's how things go in this world. One moment you're thinking about cheese sandwiches for breakfast and the next you're face-to-face with the maggoty undead. Such is life, hey?"

The girl spits another globule of blood onto the ground.

"I always thought it'd be like this. Death by zombies." I shrug, talking more to myself than to the stranger. "I've known plenty others who died this way. Not starvation, not sickness, not cold. Zombies. Zombies have always been the problem and now they've become an even bigger problem."

As my thoughts begin to race away on a train headed nowhere, I'm only awakened from my stupor from the noise of something heavy striking the ground. I turn towards the girl and see, to my disbelief, the manacles that once held her left wrist have been broken out of the wall and lie on the ground beside her. She flexes her arm stiffly. Her skin, criss-crossed with scars, appears very gold in the light.

"Jo," she says.

"What?"

"That's my name. Jo."

This time I have nothing to say. The girl called Jo is quickly obliterating the chains that hold her; she tears them from the wall, link by link. I watch closely as her other arm comes free, then her legs, then her waist, then her neck. In minutes she's on her feet, massaging her shoulders and yawning. She looks as if she just watched a boring tennis match.

I glance up at my own chains. I'm clueless. _How did she do that? Oh man, I have no idea what she did. I'm going to be stuck here for a long time, that's for sure._

I hear approaching footsteps and see Jo gradually walking towards me, as intimidating as ever. She stops perhaps a metre away and gives me a burning stare. From a closer angle I can see bruising around both of her eyes and a silvery tattoo sleeve upon her left arm of many entwining bird wings. She doesn't blink – not even once.

Feeling awkward, I shrug at her. "So are you just going to stare at me, or … ?"

She sighs and says nothing.

"You could spend this time helping me? Please? I'll find a way to pay you back. There's plenty of food back where I live if you want some? Food, supplies, entertainment … anything you want, I'll make sure you can have it, yeah? Please just don't leave me here."

"Have you seen any Desert Eagles?" Jo asks, ignoring everything I said.

"Desert Eagles?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean? Birds?"

Jo's face goes blank.

I raise my eyebrow. "You know you do have a nasty blow to the head. There's blood all throughout your hair. Are you sure you're speaking correctly?"

"Pistols," Jo mutters in an irritated tone. "Two of them."

I glare at her feet. More strands of hair fall into my face but I don't care. I'm not going to just hand out any information to her. She's not going to help me out of this place. She doesn't care if I'm left to rot here against the wall, it's obvious.

"Why should I tell you?" I say quietly.

All of a sudden I hear tearing metal above my head and my arms fall limply to my sides. At first, I can barely feel them because they're so sore and numb. I look upwards through my hair and see the stranger above me holding my broken shackles in one hand.

She flings them away and waits for an answer.

I gesture towards the sofa that the zombie guards were sitting on earlier when they were guarding me. It's covered in cards and human eyeballs. "Over there."

Jo retrieves the two Desert Eagles and slides them into holsters at her hips. I stand up and rub my arms, feeling even more exhausted than I did before. "What are you going to do?" I ask.

Jo stares harshly out the door while rearranging her belt. She tightens the buckle and uses the ammunition to reload both her pistols with expertise. "I'll take you out of here," she says in a low voice. "Then my work is done."

I don't know what she means but before I can ask anything else, Jo slips out of the room like a phantom. I lurch into a sprint to keep up with her as we run along a hallway surrounded by corrugated iron. Steam swells from gaps between sheets of metal, filling the area with blistering heat. I can already feel a film of sweat all over my body as I enter cloud after cloud. As I run I'm nearly blind – all I can see is a small strip of floor in front of me.

I feel like we've been running in a straight line for ages. Just as I begin to trip over my own feet and pant, I feel something seize my upper arm in a vice-like grip.

I scream for about half a second before a hand is clapped over my mouth. Before I know it, I'm pulled around face-to-face with Jo; most of her body is hidden in the steam.

"Do you want to be killed? Stop making so much noise," she hisses through her teeth. She slowly takes her hand off my mouth but keeps her other one tightly on my arm.

"I thought you were a freakin' zombie!" I gasp, astonished.

"Not yet." With a single movement, she leads me by the arm into a narrow passageway. I would not have ever noticed it was there if I had kept going along the hallway. It reeks of petrol and dust and is teeming with shadows.

Jo steps into the passageway behind me, blocking out all the light. "Go already," she says.

"I can't see in here," I protest.

"Just move."

"But what if something bad is in here? Particularly something slimy or bloody or covered in pus …"

"There's nothing in here."

"How would you know? Do you have night vision eyes or something?"

Obviously frustrated, the tall girl frowns. "I don't have time for this." She pushes me forward in the small of my back. "Go!"

Despite trying to resist being swallowed in the depths of the passageway, I'm going forward in a downward slant which soon turns to stairs. Further and further into the darkness we go. I'm moving as fast as I can manage in the pitch black, anxious that a rotting zombie's body is going to pop up in front of me. Fortunately, that never happens and we come to an opening off the side of the stairs. It's a window to an old fire escape. The ravaged city of Kolumbia stretches far within the night beyond it.

Relief strikes me when I climb down the side of the fire escape. I can't believe that I am out of the factory. Free. When we reach the cemented ground I can't help but grin and cheer to myself.

We're on one side of the train station. Trains in Kolumbia are automatic and still run around the city – they're the only form of transport there is. They don't need drivers, they just reach their designated stops, stay for a minute or so, and then go. Back during the days when humanity was in its prime, the mayor of Kolumbia thought it would improve his reputation to run all the trains on solar power. Enough power can be obtained during the day for them to continue on at night. This has proved to be of great use because the survivors of the city can still use the trains, even in these dark present times.

I spin around the train station. This is the most joy I've ever felt in months. Jo slouches against a wall, her face is heavily shadowed. She dabs some of the blood from her temple away with her shirt, exposing her stomach, which is just as toned as her arms.

I smile at her even though she's not looking at me.

"You can catch a train from here, right?" comes Jo's voice.

My joy melts away like ice in the sun. I stop spinning and stand still, facing her. "You're … You're going?" I don't know this girl but for some reason this is the last thing I want.

Jo slips her shirt back in place and blinks, appearing twice as weary as she was before.

"But where?" I say. "Where are you going?"

"Back."

"Back where?"

She shakes her head at me. "It doesn't matter."

_I guess you're really not going to tell me anything._

There's a loud screeching noise and the train that will take me downtown slows to a stop. Like all the other trains, it nearly looks as if a bomb exploded inside. The brittle windows are shattered, the exterior is dented, and tattered bits of rubber fly off it like flags. The doors dangle off their hinges, sending up sparks as they drag along the platform.

I take one look at the train as it awaits me before glancing back at Jo. "Well … goodbye then."

Jo's expression is cold and stone-hard. Her hands are somewhere in the pockets of her jeans and her jacket makes her shoulders look stiff and square. Bits of silvery hair flutter in the wind and across her piercing red eyes which watch me from the shadow that covers her face.

"Thank you," I call to her as I climb onto the train.

I sit on one of the seats inside – most are shredded and have been ripped up from the floor. The doors beep twice and then attempt to close themselves. As the train slowly edges forward, I watch Jo's slouched figure which remains as stiff as a statue against the wall. _Maybe I'll see you again, _I think, whilst biting my lip, _one day._

Just as the train begins to pick up speed there is a blood-curdling screech. I glance around in horror, my breath caught in my throat, as I see something stumbling down the carriage towards me. It's a huge zombie. It leaves a trail of gore on the floor behind it as it moans at me; its skull-like features are swarming with worms and larvae. The light above its bloody head flickers as its lipless mouth begins to smile.

The train leaves the station.

I scream and attempt to run towards the opposite end of the train, just as it jolts and sweeps me off my feet, sending me crashing back-first to the floor. The zombie staggers forward, ravenous and decayed. But before I have time to think, I see a second shape out of the corner of my eye.

Jo leaps in through a window and lands between the zombie and me. In a moment, just as the lights flicker off and on, there's an ear-splitting gunshot. Dark liquid and fleshy pieces splatter in every direction like a fountain.

The tall, blonde girl sheaths her pistol before the zombie's body hits the ground with a _thump. _I'm frozen in one position on the ground and the blood seems to be vacant from my face. My chest is heaving, my hands are sweating. There's a metallic taste on the tip of my tongue.

Jo turns around and looks at me. Her eyes aren't harsh and fiery anymore. They are warm like the embers in a fireplace on a cold winter's night. "Are you alright?" she asks me softly.

I can't find my voice so I don't answer.

The girl gently kneels down beside me on the floor. I can smell her; it's a scent like ash and blood but there's a sweet saccharine touch to it. She leans over me and slips her arms under my back and knees, lifting me up off the floor onto a chair.

I stare at her as chooses her own chair in the carriage, just across from me. She drops into it tiredly, props her legs up, and leans against a window.

Jo smiles for the first time. It's a devilish and mischievous smile.

"You're welcome," she tells me.

* * *

><p>The train ride doesn't help the drug in my system. I'm very aware that it's because the substance was cooked-up with harmful chemicals and malicious intentions. There's no way I will be feeling a hundred per cent till day break. <em>Fuck, I wish I knew the time, <em>I think while looking momentarily out the window. I can see my own reflection in it – the rips in my clothes, the red streak of blood in my otherwise blonde hair, and the bruising that has appeared around both of my eyes for some reason. It doesn't bother me. I am Jo Carpenter. I have seen myself in a worse condition than this many times.

The human girl is curled up, fast asleep in her seat. Her long bronze hair flows down her back, glinting red. I watch her. She must be frightened. Humans get frightened easily.

_Meghan, _I think. _That's what you said your name is._

As I watch her I think about how small and thin she is. That zombie would have broken her neck if I hadn't seen it and jumped on the train in time. I don't know how something so delicate-looking has managed to survive in Kolumbia.

_You're lucky, _I think with a smirk. _You're very lucky you found me. Now I have to make sure you survive … seeing as it is part of my responsibility._

I stare out the window again, allowing the train to carry me through the night.


	3. Step Three: Heavenly

**this whole chapter is from Meg's POV but there'll be heaps from Jo's POV coming up next. It's not really that action-packed but its a really important chapter. you'll see why. sorry i was slow to update cause of school and plus getting through some of the topics involved in this chapter took a lot of concentration haha. so hopefully its good.  
><strong>

**ummm i'm a little surprised by the amount of reviews! i can't believe people are actually reading something i've written (let alone liking it!). it means so much to me though so thanks heaps guys (: i'm sorta still new to this site so if anyone wants me to read anything you've written or any stories you like, burst angel or not, leave me a message and i'll do my best to check it out for you cause I'm looking for good stories to read.  
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**chaosrin: i guess i gave them realistic hair colours because when I write I imagine everything looks like a movie. And when people call Jo's hair silver or grey i think of old people hair. it makes more sense to me that her hair would be silvery blonde haha.**

**Step Three: Heavenly**

* * *

><p>Meghan<p>

* * *

><p><em>He snarls at me, foaming at the mouth. He stares at me, eyes glowing. As he runs at me I can hear his flesh squelching, still moist. The zombie collides with me and the impact is so strong that I'm sent flying backwards through the dark; heart leaping out of my chest—<em>

My head bangs against the window, waking me up immediately. "Ow, what? Jeez!" I rub my sore brow as I slowly come to realize where I am. I'm on a Kolumbian train which is jolting up and down over a rough part of the tracks. "Oh … It was just a dream," I tell myself, feeling very relieved that I'm not being pummeled by a starving zombie. "Just a harmless dream."

Sighing, I pull my long hair around one shoulder and glance around. Under the flickering light at the front of the carriage is Jo, slouching against a wall near a built-in phone box. There is some sort of strange mechanism she's playing with – it's connected to the phone box with a cord. Her face is hidden by her short messy tresses. Judging from her lack of movement I can tell that she's completely focused on the device she's holding.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. How long was I asleep for? I feel like I barely got rest at all. A parade of thoughts has been marching through my mind ever since we escaped the metal-works factory. _It's still dark out, _I think. _And Preseli Avenue is pretty far from the factory, so we can't have passed it yet, I think._ The sign which once was used to tell people what stops were coming up next for the train is shattered. Worried, I stand up and go towards Jo so I can ask her about it. The last thing I want to do is end up in a bad side of town.

"Hey," I say with a smile and a yawn. She doesn't look up. "I guess I sorta passed out, huh? Um, sorry about that. I need a lot of shut-eye, it's a bad habit of mine."

There's silence. Jo taps away on a small, brightly-lit screen. I awkwardly scratch my elbow.

"What's that thing you have?" I ask, trying to spark up the conversation. "Can't say I've ever seen anything like that. Not even in Jeremy's bedroom, and he's a raging nerd."

"It's a URC," Jo mumbles.

"A what?"

"A URC."

"No, I mean, what does it do?"

"Holds information," Jo replies simply.

I wait for a moment to see if she'll explain further (but, of course, she doesn't). The mysterious girl instead pulls the cord from the phone box and shoves the URC into a pocket inside her jacket. I decide to change the subject to something more important. "Do you know if we passed Preseli Avenue yet?"

Jo lazily rubs the back of her neck. "Preseli Avenue is the next stop."

"Thank God," I breathe, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and yawning again. "Finally, I can go home. Finally, I can see if Jeremy is alright." I pause for a moment. "I know he will be," I say. "He'll be waiting in the apartment with everyone else, just you wait. I'll walk right in the front door and they'll all bombard me with questions. They must be so worried, but I'll soon be safe and sound. I can have a damn shower! And then I can change out of these filthy clothes; I feel like I've been wearing this outfit for ages. Jeremy will be there – I know what he will do. He'll be waiting in the lounge room with a big surprise for me. Like a … Like a miniature TV on a keychain or … an electric moustache comb." I smile and shake my head softly. "He always comes up with things like that. I don't know why, but I like it. It keeps me entertained 'cause he always wants me to be the first person to test out his little inventions and give him feedback." I pause again and add, "Although I hope he hasn't made an electric moustache comb. I don't know how I would test that."

Jo stares at the floor, lost in thought. There are little crinkles between her eyebrows. I wonder what she's thinking …

I take a deep breath. "Do you, um …" I bite my lip nervously. "I mean … have you got a, um… Are you alone?" _Damn why can't I speak properly? _I think, feeling puzzled. _It seems so hard for me to ask her questions about herself, yet I can blab on about my life as much as I want._

The girl barely moves a muscle. "Am I alone?" she repeats the question, as if trying to work out the answer. I watch her eyes as the flickering light above us reflects the red colour in flashes. After a long moment of silence I begin to accept that she isn't going to answer, until she eventually says, "I don't know."

Nearly ten minutes pass before the train begins to slow down. I spin around and glance out the windows, seeing the familiar broken neon signs of the old pizza place that's down the road from my apartment. _Home, _I think, as I skip eagerly to the door. _At last I'm here. I made it. _

The train stops and the broken doors force themselves open. I step out onto the platform. Jo follows me slowly.

"I can't believe I'm here!" I exclaim. "Come on. This way! You can meet them all, Jo. Come on!"

I run along the platform, up a flight of stairs, and out of the train station onto Preseli Avenue. Once upon a time it was a boisterous place full of shops, markets and festivals – full of life and colours. Now it's nothing but a blackened strip of road, littered with burnt car bodies and bordered by ghostly buildings that smell like petrol and ash. I cross over the street through the dark and head towards my apartment – _my home._ On top of the ramshackled building is an old sign with the faded words "Surfer's Paradise" written across. If this place could ever live up to its name again, it would only happen in my imagination.

Going through the opening doors I run up the ten floors as fast as I can (since the elevators don't work anymore, they haven't worked in years).

"Erik?" I yell. My voice is echoing throughout the whole building. "Tyler? Kade? I'm back, hey!"

When I arrive at the top floor, I'm puffing in exhaustion – I have to stop for a second to catch my breath. I can see that our front door is closed but there's no light coming from beneath it. I stumble forward and burst through into our lounge room. It's occupied by a circular set-up of couches and a coffee table. A glass mug lies on the carpet in a puddle of spilt beer.

I switch on a light (Jeremy had managed to connect electricity to many things in the apartment). "Sam? Hello? Where are you guys at?"

Sprinting into the kitchen, I check there. There's cups, pots, pans and even a working fridge … but no people. Confused, I hurry into the dining room to see if my roommates are there instead, but it's as bare as a bone. I start to feel edgy as I anxiously check all the bedrooms one by one. Empty. Empty. Emptier. The apartment is as blank as paper. There's no one here.

"What the … ?" This has never happened before. Twenty people live together here which means there's always _someone_ at home. "Where is everyone?" I whisper; my voice is barely breaking the silence that closes in around me. It's only now that I consider turning on a few more lights. Once I do, I notice that half the furniture is broken. It took a lot of strenuous work for us all to gather furniture from old shops that had not been destroyed. That means nothing now. Our chairs are torn apart, the windows are shattered and there are even deep gorges in the walls. _What happened here? _I kneel down and pick up my Polaroid camera. It still seems to be in mint condition but there's photos all around it that have been stepped on and torn up. Pictures of times I like to cherish. There's one photo of when we put a blow-up pool in the lounge room for a pool party and another of when we first found the arcade on Westwood Street and spent the whole day there. There's even a photo from this morning of a grinning Jeremy holding a mangled cheese sandwich which was half burnt and half soggy.

I pick up this particular photo and stare at it. There's only one word that comes to me.

_Jeremy?_

I think only minutes passed but it felt much longer. People used to say that time stretches out in situations like this – now I know what they meant. I totally lose track of what I am doing and what is happening around me. I'm drowning within my own mind. It takes a lot of effort to come to terms with what I _think_ has happened.

Jo's footsteps echo against the floorboards from behind me. I peek through my hair at her. She stops at the doorway and calmly stretches out one arm. With a slim hand she strokes a huge blood splatter that covers part of the wall and watches as the wine-like liquid dribbles off her fingertips. "I thought," she said, "that it would be this way."

I pick up my camera and the photo of Jeremy, hugging them both to my chest. The sight of so much blood makes me feel heavy and ill. I can feel the corners of my mouth twitching slightly. "What—what do you mean?" I demand, my voice breaking half way through.

Jo's sounds icy and bitter like the first time she spoke to me. "The living dead identified this area a while ago." She looks up. I follow her gaze and notice that the ceiling above me is entirely bespattered with even more blood stains. "They have known it houses surviving humans. You and your friend left this building just as they were about to ambush." She turns and walks out.

I follow her into the lounge room. I'm still trying to process everything I've just learnt. _They came here after they got me. They came here and got everyone else. _

"It can't be true," I say, harshly. "My friends are _fighters_! Warriors! They practically _search_ all four corners of this damn city just to cut down waves of zombies!"

"Your friends," Jo explains quietly, "are dead."

"Not true …" My body shakes with an uncontrollable mix between a sigh and a sob. "It's not true. They must be in the factory. They must be! The zombies have to have taken everyone and imprisoned them, just like they did to me. We could go back. We could save—"

"There's no point. They're all dead."

There's something about Jo's words that seem horribly truthful to me. After a long minute's worth of silence, I drop to the floor and sit propped up against the coffee table, looking at the beer mug on the carpet beside me. There's a web of cracks covering its surface, as if it struck the ground very hard.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I'm meant to."

"What—What is …" I swallow a lump in my throat. "What do you mean?"

Jo sits on the arm of a couch. "You are the only girl who lived here," she states. "Those undead who belong to a group don't feed straight away. They capture prey and return it to their leader's residence before they eat the flesh. This happens almost immediately." She sounds like she was reading from a textbook. "You were only kept alive because you're a girl. A specialty for Leather Jack."

"Leather Jack?"

"That's who leads the army of undead that reside in the metal-works factory. Those humans you knew and lived with would have been eaten whilst you were still in manacles."

I stare at her, at loss for words.

"It's possible some survived but that is highly unlikely."

"So everyone I lived here with … is gone for good?" I touch my hand lightly to my face only to discover it's wet with warm tears. I can't help myself. It's difficult to believe that out of a household of people, I managed to survive. I doubt I'll survive much longer though. Many of those who I lived with deserved to keep their lives much more than I do. I'm useless.

"It's funny," I whisper as I stare at the blood speckled over the walls. "Every day we'd all agree that death would be worth it if we died fighting. And each night we'd just hope to make it out till morning. We all knew we wouldn't live forever. We all knew this city and this apartment … would be our last destination."

Jo rakes her fingers through her hair, which distracts me for a moment. I watch as the short layers fall around her face, illuminated in the moonlight which streams in through the window. My eyes then fall to her sharp but attractive features that make her expression: a bored face hiding lethal energy she will only display every now and then. I look down at her tattoo of the entwining bird wings which seem to move under the gentlest touch of light. Her sleeveless maroon jacket has a high collar and only now do I notice a long white scarf sitting loosely around her neck. _Was that there before? _The scarf runs down her chest and ends near her belt buckle. It's so white and pure compared to the rest of her outfit; I can even see small inscriptions threaded along it in a language I can't identify. While she is here I think I am safe. Maybe even safer than I was when I lived with everyone else here in this apartment. I become so lost in Jo that I begin to see her as a lifeline; something to take me away from my sudden grief.

"Meg."

Jo's voice shakes me out of my stupor and I catch her eyes. The world around me becomes clear again.

"You're staring at me," she says.

In a split-second I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and without thinking, I pretend to bite my nails and stare at the floor. But I can see out of the corner of my eye that Jo is still watching me extra intently as if my reaction had gained her attention. It only makes me blush more and the back of my neck prickle. I awkwardly pretend to be fascinated with the buttons on my shirt. _Wow how can I be such an idiot! I was just staring at her like some massive pervert. _"I was wondering something," my mouth says without my brain's permission in an attempt to explain myself.

"About what?" comes Jo's voice which sounds confused.

"About … why … you're here." _That seems to be a good explanation. _I feel relieved that I had got myself out of that, but at the same time it's the truth. I _have_ been wondering why she is here.

Jo waits for me to clarify what I mean.

I sigh. The safety I had just felt while looking at Jo has vanished and only my grief remains like a cold, hard weight in my chest."It's just that … you saved me. The moment you tore off those chains you decided to help me; you decided to save my life instead of concentrating on saving your own. _My life._ I'm here in my apartment and the evidence of death is smeared over the walls – the deaths of my friends. They had no chance, but I did, and it's only because of you. If you hadn't been there in the metal-works factory with me I … I wouldn't be alive right now. You saved my life, not only once but twice! And still, you accompany me while I'm here torn to pieces … but I'm only a stranger to you, crying over people you don't know." Tears well up in my eyes. I'm being completely honest with her. "So what I'm wondering is … what are you doing? Who are you, Jo?"

There's a strange silence between us. All I can hear is the screech from an animal somewhere out in the dark, dead city. Jo removes a tobacco pouch from inside her jacket and begins to roll a perfect cigarette with expertise. She finishes in only a few seconds before pinching it between her lips and lighting it. I watch as pale smoke swirls out of her mouth.

"I'm something called a Guardian Reaper," she mutters in a raspy voice.

"A Guardian Reaper … ?"

She nods and takes a draw of her cigarette. "I'm genetically modified to kill zombies and preserve life that is not infected."

"How can that be?" I whisper.

"I don't know. It's just how I was made." Jo's eyebrows meet in a frown. "Many years ago an organization manufactured many beings that were supposed to be immune to the infection and able to outmatch the zombies as a last resort against the apocalypse. But they started the project too late. They couldn't make enough of us. The originals could not live for more than a few weeks. Once the formula was perfected there was only enough time to make a few complete Reapers. The objective to have thousands was never reached."

Stunned, I stare at Jo. I think this is the most she's ever said to me before. "So you are … one of the few that were completed?"

"And I saved you because it's what I'm meant to do," she finished, tapping away some ash residue.

"You were in the metal-works factory to hunt down the zombies in there, right? But how did they catch you?"

Jo clenches her jaw. "Toxic smoke. I didn't think that any of the machinery would still work in the factory but I was wrong. The zombies managed to reanimate and alter some of it to daze me. I was then ambushed and drugged." She rubs her eyes. "I'm still drugged."

"You're drugged right now?"

She nods slowly. "I'll be normal soon."

I try to imagine what normal is for Jo. Will she have a different personality and be easier to talk to? Will she laugh lots and smile at me all the time? Will she be capable of feats I wouldn't dream of doing?

"What will happen?" Jo asks me. "Are you going to stay here?"

I chew my lips anxiously. "I don't know."

"You'll die if you stay here alone."

"Thanks for pointing it out. Maybe I don't care if I die …"

Jo smudges out the remains of her rollie and straightens her jacket. "You have to come with me."

I get to my wobbly feet as my knees threaten to give way. "With you?" I ask, bemused.

"It's the only way you'll survive."

"But where will we go?"

"Back."

"Back _where_?"

Jo offers me a small smile. "To where I come from."

She strides towards the window. Outside the broken glass sits the notorious city of Kolumbia. The moon sails gracefully high above the giant, shadowy towers. It's the only light available. Once upon a time Kolumbia was nothing but a sea of lights but that all changed when it died alongside its people.

Jo removes excess glass and tosses it to the floor, clearing out the entire window frame. "Uh, Jo," I ask as a piece of glass lands near my foot, "what exactly are you doing?"

"The stairs are annoying," she replies flatly.

"Oh fair enough," I say. "I guess leaping out of a ten storey apartment is a good alternative if the stairs are a bit annoying."

Jo looks at me from over her shoulder and says nothing as she pulls out the last bit of glass and throws it away.

I place my hands on my hips and give her a criticizing frown. "You know, you don't have to prance around jumping out windows to impress me or anything. I'm sure you're human enough to deal with stairs." I flick my eyes up and down the length of her body. "You sure look human enough, anyway."

Jo tightens her holsters and the buckle on her belt. "Really," she mumbles in a completely uninterested monotone.

"Yes, really," I snap.

Once she finishes fixing her belt she stands up onto the empty window sill. The wind combs through her hair like a lover might do as she balances on it. "I'm not stopping you from using the stairs."

Without another word, Jo jumps from the window out into the open air. I lurch forward with a small scream as I watch her arc downwards towards the road. But before I can think, something freezes me in my tracks. I can't believe it. There are two of them; long, huge and sprouting from Jo's back. Wings. _Jo has wings_. They are covered in silky feathers which are brilliant white and seem to emit a light of their own. They are the brightest thing in the whole of Preseli Avenue and they seem to be matching the glowing moon above.

Jo floats to the road and touches down without any sign of effort. In fact, judging from her bodily expression, she still seems bored and tired. I, on the other hand, have forgotten how to breathe; I've never seen something so extraordinary in my life. There's a single, pure, white feather stuck in the window frame. I pick it up and hold it closely. It's the same size as my hand and is softer than water. I also happen to notice that it's still warm.

"Hurry up," instructs Jo from the street. I don't pay attention to her though, all I can do is stare at the feather as its glow begins to die out and it becomes reduced to a plain, snow-white colour.

_I'm with a Guardian Reaper._


	4. Step Four: Kill, Laugh, Rise and Repeat

**so, for those who might be reading this, I probably wont be able to upload the next chapter for a while.  
>but enjoy~<br>**

**Step Four: Kill, Laugh, Rise and Repeat**

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><p><strong>Meghan:<strong>

* * *

><p>I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.<p>

It's late at night and I'm making my way through a humongous forest. The twisted trees are surrounded by slinking shadows. Branches creak, leaves rustle and wind gasps all around me. The canopy looms high above like a black, distorted ceiling. There is enough space in here to hold a countless amount of secrets.

I clutch the three items I brought along with me until my hands quiver: my Polaroid camera, a photo of my dead friend holding a cheese sandwich, and a feather which belongs to a girl with wings.

Ever since humanity had succumbed to the infection, nature started to redeem itself wherever it could. This forest is a monstrous example. It surrounds the entire zombie-infested city of Kolumbia. _Dammit, Jo, _I think, as I try to keep my breathing steady. _Why do you have to live out here? Why can't you live somewhere a teeny tiny bit more normal? Like a house, for example. A house sounds fabulous right now. _I peer nervously at a wall of shadow far away between the trees. It's so dark it nearly seems solid. _This is madness. This is a death-trap. Oh, I really wish I was somewhere else right now …_

Jo is on my right side. Her hands are resting limply in the pockets of her black skinny-jeans while the collar of her jacket is turned up against the bitter cold. If she is worried, stressed, cautious or anything like that then she's definitely covered her emotion up flawlessly because to me she seems perfectly at ease. She's even chewing bubble gum. _Guardian Reaper, _I think as I stare at her jacket. It's hard to believe that a pair of elegant, feathered wings are hidden under there. _Guardian of humans. Harvester of zombies. _This girl is the only person I have left in the whole world – nothing can compare to that feeling. It's even more bizarre because I only met her just hours ago. Now she's guiding me through this forest and I have no choice but to follow.

_Dammit, Jo, _I think. _Why can't I stop staring at you … ?_

* * *

><p><strong>Jo:<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Kill them with one shot.<em>

_Kill them with one shot._

_Kill them with one fucking shot._

I have one shot left.

There's a group of sixteen zombies waiting up ahead in the depths of the night; they are preparing to 'ambush' but even with the drug still lingering in my system I can sense them undoubtedly. I can smell them, hear them and taste them in the air – they can only pray that they'll escape me.

Before I entered this forest I had to empty out all of my ammunition. It was tainted. The zombies in the factory ruined it all while I was unconscious – only the two bullets in my Desert Eagles were left alone, one for each pistol. I've already used a bullet on the train-zombie; the other bullet sits in the pistol on my right-hand side. That's one shot awaiting sixteen zombies and I'm still under the influence.

Behind me, a little to my left, I hear the human girl's pattering footsteps. I'm unsure how I will explain to her that we are about to walk head-first into an ambush.

"Jo," she whines in her soft voice. "Jo …"

I stop. The human stops too, blinking at me in curiosity. Strands of her long, red-brown hair spiral behind her like streamers. _Meghan, that's her name_. I've noticed that Meghan lacks muscle tone whatsoever. I find this difficult to comprehend. Her arms and legs are very slender and appear fragile to me; how is this possible? She has creamy skin, a button nose, and lips like rose petals – Meghan's entire appearance reminds me of a doll I once found in a house on the edge of the city. Her cheeks flush pink as she watches me with large, brilliant, blue eyes that look like two twinkling sapphires.

The girl has been wearing an ash-covered, grey cardigan all this time with a yellow singlet beneath. It barely seems to fit across her chest – I begin wonder why she chose something that is so small. Accompanying that is a blue skirt, lacy white stockings and huge yellow boots. _At least her footwear is practical, _I note. Tears, shreds and broken threads cover all of her clothes. She stands there shivering with her knees together, her shoulders hunched, and her hands clasped under her chin.

"I don't like it here," she whimpers.

I say nothing and scan the indistinct shapes of tree trunks up ahead. The sensation of the zombies being somewhere close-by is growing stronger, it feels like static electricity prickling my body. But there's one problem: I'm drugged and I can't figure out where they are. I glare at the canopy above, watching the grey leaves shift across each other whilst my fingers brush lightly over my pistol. _This drug, _I think, clenching my teeth, _is wearing me away._

"Jo, please talk to me," Meghan urges, her thin eyebrows wrinkling with concern. "What's wrong? Why have we stopped? I'm scared, I don't like it here at all. It's creepy and I'm cold and I think I stepped on something _really _gooey …"

"Shut up," I mutter; the suspicious sound of wet flesh squelching over a hard surface reaches me from somewhere distant … but I can't figure out which direction it comes from. Fortunately, I can feel the last moments of the drug as it begins to leave my body: _Five._

"Excuse me?" blares the human girl, placing her hands on her hips. "Why are you so freakin' rude all the time? What's your prob—?"

"Shut up!" I hiss through my teeth for the second time. The sound had returned, this time louder and more distinguishable, but I still can't be sure of where it originates. It's hard to hear anything while this girl is complaining. _Four._

"No!" snaps Meghan. She purses her lips and frowns in the dim light. "I'm _not_ going to shut up! Do you have any idea what my life has come to? Do you know what kind of situation I'm in right now?"

I stare flatly at the trees behind her; their darkened trunks are furrowed like the ageing skin of an old man. _Three._

"I have had barely any sleep and zero food. I'm exhausted. Everyone I know has been taken away from me, do you know how that feels? Has that ever happened to you before?"

"No," I lie. The fleshy noise has become even more apparent. _This is horseshit, where's it coming from? _ I continue to watch the trees as confused shadows dance amongst the branches. _Two._

Meghan drones on: "Of course it's never happened to you, you're a _Guardian Reaper_. I'm cold, Jo. Cold inside and out. I have nothing to hold onto anymore. I can't trust anyone but you and I still don't know who you are. You're just a stranger! Where's your family? Where did you come from? Why do you live out here in this creepy-ass forest, Jo?"

The drug is an anchor inside me, weighing me down as it comes to an end. I squint into the trees as the walls of shadow between them begin to shimmer like mirages. _One._

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know how or why I should trust you. Maybe I _could_ have made it on my own in the apartment, yeah? Maybe I could've just boarded up the windows and lived on canned food for a few more months and watched television on a stupid key chain. Maybe I—"

Hooking my fingers around Meghan's cardigan, I yank her towards me. The rotting arms of the first zombie barely misses her by inches; its dirty fingers are spread wide. The human girl gasps, her blue eyes wide with shock, and then stumbles forward into my arms. Snarling, the zombie retreats quickly into the pool of shadow it came from and giggles:

"_In the garden we are growing._

_Many eyes that will be glowing._

_If you want to be amazing._

_See the flowers we've been raising._"

It's like my senses have been cleansed. Suddenly everything becomes lucid and energy boils in my blood. I can feel Meghan breathing fast against my throat; her face has become pasty white and she refuses to blink. Fear has struck her like lightning. She quakes while I grip both her shoulders tightly, keeping the girl on her feet.

"I can see an _angel_," speaks the benevolent voice of a child secreted somewhere within the forest.

Thump; a large shadow has fallen from up above and hits the ground. It shudders before pulling itself up onto its feet like a puppet with strings. _Here we go, _I think.

"Hello, my name is Kyo." The zombie shuffles forward into the dim light. He's a teenager wearing a soiled apron decorated with leaves and broken twigs. "Hello, my name is Kyo." He has a shaggy mat of black hair and his luminous, green eyes are gleaming from within his rotting skull. "Hello, my name is Kyo." As he comes closer he begins to foam at the mouth. It's at this moment that I notice other members of the undead emerge from the crevices of the forest. Each one is covered in foliage and bits of vegetation as well. Their green eyes are unblinking as they all shuffle forward through the dry leaf litter; there are wide grins smeared across their faces. Most of them are giggling hysterically which exposes the raw, gory muscles on their necks. They all seem to be Kyo's age except for one: a little girl (maybe six or seven) with patched hair and a ragged dress.

Kyo pauses. His tongue flops out of his mouth like a piece of old salami. "Hello, my name is Kyo."

I shoot Meghan the sharpest look I can manage, catching her attention immediately. "Move," I hiss through my teeth.

Horrified, Meghan frantically looks between Kyo and me. "Wh-what?"

"Go up the trail and don't look back," I order, hoping she'll listen. "Now!"

The human girl hesitates at first, reluctant to go into the darkness all alone, until I start to shove her in the right direction so that she begins to run. Her long, silky hair brushes past me as she staggers up the track, panting loudly. Immediately afterwards, I spin around to face the zombies. They are nothing but a crowd of repugnant carcasses. Leaves are dangling from the scraps of skin still clinging to their yellowing bones. They continue to smile as they approach me with outstretched arms, like children receiving a present.

Chewing my gum slowly, I examine them all. "This better be interesting."

A girl-zombie steps forward – in her blood-streaked hair she wears a tiara made from rotting flower petals. "We will shove branches down your throat until the words won't come out," she says.

A boy with a green-tinged skeletal arm sniggers, "Let's shred her, slice her, grate her, mince her."

"Why does angel has human?" says another. His skull is shattered like an eggshell, held together with only weeds and vines. "Why does angel carry human with her?"

"It's a special human. It's a _girl_ human."

"Angels can't take humans," laughs a girl, her eyeball dangles from its socket like a ping-pong ball on a string. "Angel's can only guard humans."

"I can do whatever the fuck I want," I say.

The zombies are cut silent for a moment, seemingly captivated by my voice. They twiddle their fingers and look between each other eagerly.

"Oh, oh, oh!" says Kyo with excitement. "So now she wants a game? A fun, little game?"

I raise one eyebrow. "You wanna play it like a game?"

The zombies erupt with giggles as they come closer. I can smell their putrid bodies. I can see the glistening gore over their skin. I can hear their squelching footsteps. They are only metres away.

Spitting out the remains of my chewing gum, I curl one side of my mouth into a smirk. "Come on then, let's play."

* * *

><p><strong>Meghan:<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Don't die. Please don't die. Please don't let them kill you.<em>

Running blind, running silent, running alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Jo:<strong>

* * *

><p>I catch the first zombie's neck and wrench it to the side; his bones split through his flesh as easily as a butter knife through jelly. Without waiting, I spin around to my left and throw my fist into the stomach of another. The impact causes ice-cold blood to splash all down my jeans. <em>Score. <em>I hear a third zombie charging at me from behind so I quickly duck, just as his rancid arm whizzes over my head in a blur. I come back with a sharp kick; my boot sinks into the side of his jaw with a satisfying crunch. He collapses to the ground and judders as if he was having a seizure. Of course, zombies don't have seizures, they just die.

I stand up straight, my chest heaving, and wipe away some of the gore that had splattered over my eye. "Don't stop now."

The girl with the dangling eyeball pounces at me in an instant. Her body slams against mine; it feels like I've collided with a concrete statue. She snarls, causing foam to swell from between her lips. I hold both her wrists, rattling her left and right. It takes a lot of effort to get her on the ground, but once I do, I stomp down on her head until her skull falls apart like a broken jigsaw puzzle.

Noticing a fallen branch which protrudes from the ground, I jerk it out, and then run towards a trio of zombies. They drool ravenously as I leap towards them, my body shoots forth with what seems like the speed of an arrow. I use the branch as a baseball bat, swinging it at all three zombies and demolishing their skulls.

Once their flaccid bodies all hit the ground, I spot Kyo only several metres away. The young chef-zombie is still shuffling towards me, his grin wider than a Cheshire Cat's. "Hello, my name is Kyo," he giggles. "Hello, my name is Kyo." He sounds like a broken record.

"Hello, fuckhead." I draw my Desert Eagle fast and point it directly at his face. "I was saving this especially for you." Bang. His head explodes and brains fly in every direction like mushy porridge.

* * *

><p><strong>Meg:<strong>

* * *

><p>Something is coming. Something is following. Closer. Closer. It grabs hold of me. Tearing me down. I'm still blind, it's too dark here …<p>

I can't scream Jo's name, I can't say any word, I can't even breathe. Fingernails drag across my skin like broken glass as I'm hauled along the forest floor. Sticks stab me, leaves accumulate around me and I can't do anything about it.

_Jo, don't leave me …_

* * *

><p><strong>Jo:<strong>

* * *

><p>Corpses now litter the silent forest floor. The barrel of my Desert Eagle is still smoking when I return it to its holster. Those zombies that are still alive can barely move. One is dragging its legless body towards me but without success. Another has somehow become impaled on a leafless tree branch. It flails its arms uselessly in the air. I count them all.<p>

_Fourteen, _I note, as I peer out into forest. _Two are missing. _I know one of them was the tiny girl with the ragged dress and patchy hair, but a zombie so young isn't a threat. That leaves one other that _should_ be lying dead somewhere around me.

_Meghan … _I look up the path in the direction she ran. Overhanging branches curve around it, perfectly capable of hiding anything. Like an invisible trail, I can sense that the zombie went this way, pursuing Meghan.

Without a second thought I sprint along the forest path. Through two slits in my jacket, I extend my wings – each one is several metres long. I can see the bright luminosity my feathers make which washes away the darkness below me. The tattoo on my left arm matches the radiance, except its crimson in colour. I fluently press down with my wings, shooting myself into the high canopy. The wind whistle past my ears.

I glide between branches, calculating the area where the zombie is. It's not far. I pin-point the exact place before using a branch to thrust myself back towards the forest floor. To me, the darkness is no obstacle. Not while I'm free of the drug that recently was polluting my body. I break through dead branches and land on the ground, leaves and splinters shower down after me.

The zombie is stunned. He's powerless against me. I rip him off Meghan, who lies in the ground covered in leaves and twigs, before hurling him at nearby tree with all the strength I can muster. His body wraps around the wide trunk and his spine splits out of his back, completely obliterated. The zombie's body then rebounds back towards the ground, twitching like an insect.

I kneel down in front of the human girl. I go to touch her but hesitate when I can see, in the gentle light that signals the beginning of dawn, that my hands are doused in blood.

"Meghan?" I say.

She's lying on her back, staring blankly at the sky. There are fingernail marks striping her cheek and arms but it's nothing sinister. She seems fine, just shocked.

"Jo," she says, sounding remote. "You … You … killed them all?"

"Yeah," I reply, even though I'm very aware that I left the youngest zombie alive. I couldn't have killed her anyway, she disappeared before the fighting had started. "Did you doubt me or something?"

Meghan blinks at me. "A little … I mean, you are tripping balls at the moment, aren't you?"

I smirk. "Not anymore." Folding my wings back into my jacket, I take Meghan's wrist and help her to her feet. "The drug's all gone. And look …" I point towards a gigantic, rock face roughly a hundred feet ahead behind some saplings. Its height far extends that of the canopy and the limit of its width is barely within eyesight. Just as I predicted, we were right next to the opening. Twin, steel doors break the consistency of the stone.

"Is that—?"

"Yes," I interrupt, walking towards the doors. Meghan follows me, still clutching the three things she brought from her apartment: a large, strange gadget, a picture of someone holding a sandwich, and one of my feathers (which she has tried to hide inside her shirt but the end of it is blatantly poking out between her breasts). I try not to look at it, because it catches me by surprise. _Why does she have one of my feathers? _I wonder, scratching the back of my neck. _And why has she put it there? Meh. She's happy now. That's all that matters I guess?_

She skips around in circles, repeating the words "thank you" over and over again, although I'm not quite sure if she's talking to me so I don't say anything. Once I come to the steel doors, I slip one of my blood-stained hands into the pocket of my jeans and pull out a key. As I fit it in the lock, the doors automatically open and I step to the side, allowing Meghan to pass through first (which she does faster than a runaway train).

"Calm down," I say, as I step through and close the doors behind me – locking them securely.

Calming down seems to be the last thing on Meghan's mind. I've seen her horrified before, but never so blissfully shocked. The small human girl becomes lost in the scenery around her.

"Jo ..." she whispers to me. "You never told me ... "

"What?"

"You never told me you lived in a place like this."

"You like it?" I can't help but smirk.

She watches me with her brilliant, glittering sapphire eyes and nods. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"This is nothing," I murmur. "I'll show you where you can stay. Follow me ..."


End file.
